


Anger Management for Dummies

by oh2hell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-15
Packaged: 2019-03-05 00:57:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13376733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh2hell/pseuds/oh2hell
Summary: Just a tiny little blurb about anger management that I was planning to make into something completely different and am probably not finished with? I don't know. I'll add more chapters at some point. I just don't know where to put his for now so I'll just post it.





	Anger Management for Dummies

His fists were bloody, both from the split knuckles and the other kid's split face. He was even grinning through bloody teeth when the SRO pulled him from the hallway into his office by the collar of his jacket, leaving the other kid to scurry away to the nurse and, hopefully, to find his way to the hospital for some stitches. The SRO shoved Dean down into the chair across from his desk, splattering a bit of blood on the shitty vinyl chair but forgetting to care. He slammed the door shut behind him, hard enough to offset the picture frame hung by the door. He stalked, stiff legged, to stand right in front of the chair, putting a hand on each arm and leaning forward to get right in Dean's face.

"Dean Fucking Winchester! This is the second fucking time this goddamned week!" The SRO was screaming, spittle flying and landing right on Dean's bloody smile. He checked his voice for a moment, "If your trailerpark ass wasn't related to John Fucking Winchester I'd have you in the slammer last fucking week. You're lucky that your snot nosed ass is the son of the man who saved the woman I love's life."

Dean's grin grew, his lip re-splitting and dribbling blood down his chin. "I'm gonna have to ask if I can legally get my middle name changed to fuckin'."

The man shoved back from dean. "You're a fucking dick, you and your psychopath little brother. It really is a shame though, your brother could be a smart little kid." With the same stiff walk the SRO walked to behind his desk, back facing Dean. "Leave. Leave this building and don't come back or so help me God I will kill you. The only reason I haven't yet is because I know your Daddy would have me in the grave before you were cold but I think he'd understand next time."

The red tinge that had faded from Dean's vision slammed back with a small tic of his eyes. He saw murder at the slightest hint that there was anything wrong with is little brother. Before he could register what his body was doing he had the man up against the wall, arm across his windpipe and noses almost touching. "You take that fucking back."

The SRO gurgled and struggled against Dean's arm. 

"I fucking said." Dean leaned in closer and saw the fear grow in the other man's eyes. "I fucking said. You. Take. That. Back." The cold calmness in his voice was scarier than any amount of yelling and could hold it's own against a blade left in the ice overnight.

Dean let up his arm slightly, only because the clawing by the SRO was started to get on his nerves.

"I'm- I- Take. Take it back!" The man was gasping for air. Dean took his sweet time stepping back and letting the SRO go. The anger fading slowly he stretched and popped his back and shoulders before sauntering over to the door and making sure to get the handle nice and bloody before he left. The SRO was still cowering against the wall, trying to make himself small and hide from Dean. Even though he'd been through cases of kids pulling knives or guns on him he'd never been this afraid of them before. He saw pure anger in the boy's eyes and had seen what he could do on the hunt with his dad. On the way to the front of the school Dean scooped up his backpack, guilt and shame and fear starting to soak in now that the adrenaline was beginning to wear off. Sam was gonna be so mad. He'd finally made some friends and had a girl going to the middle school dance with him (even though he was in all high school classes he was still technically in middle school). Dean decided to ignore the hot spark in his belly that flared when he thought about the little prepubescent girl in a dress hanging on his little brother. He decided to ignore how similar the feeling was to jealousy. It's not like he started the fight because of the little whelp. 

Right? Right.

\--

Sam was pissed. Like, majorly. He hadn't spoken to Dean the past week and hadn't even fought him for shotgun once. Dean tried all he could: apologizing, groveling, annoying him. Nothing would make Sam even acknowledge he was there. That was almost better than the treatment he was getting from his father, though. Dean could feel the hot anger rolling off of him in waves, crashing against his sharp, clipped words. The only time they'd talked was the screaming the first four days and the bare minimum the last few. They were on their way to Bobby, that much Dean knew, but he wasn't sure for what. His father was letting him stew in his own juices for a while and that scared Dean even more than whatever John could say out loud. 

\--

Bobby was grim when he saw Dean, face set in a stony frown of disappointment when John pushed Dean onto the stairs and threw his bag up after him. His lip was still a little scabbed, one eye black, as well as the cheek under it where the bruise was starting to settle.

"Call me if he acts up, Bobby. Sam will be fine. School was about out for the Summer anyways and Sammy was five chapters ahead in the first place." John's voice softened slightly as he squatted and reached his hand up to ruffle the kid's soft, a little too long hair. "Have fun at Uncle Bobby's, okay? I'll call you in a week and let you know where I am, I promise." 

Sam nodded and hugged his dad before bounding up the stairs and into the house with a "Hey, Uncle Bobby!" thrown over his shoulder. As John stood he turned to look over his shoulder at Dean. "Watch out for Sam. And don't be a dick." With a nod to Bobby he slid into the Impala and left in a cloud of dust.

Bobby clapped his hand on Dean's shoulder, his voice gruff and stern but somehow still soft. "Come on, son. Let's get you set up."

\--

He was elbow deep in grease, his grey t-shirt smeared with it and dirty jeans covered in a gross mixture of it and dust. He was three layers of grime thick when he felt the car rock and heard a loud bang. "Sammy! Get out! Go play somewhere else!" He was pushing himself out from under the car when he saw Sam - and a girl with blonde hair down to her shoulders and legs for more miles than Dean had travelled. He went to push himself up and slammed his head on the open car door. "Fuck. Shit. Fuck, wait. Shoot. Sorry." Dean struggled with the words but got them out eventually. He swiped the heel of his hand over his forehead, checking for blood but instead just smeared a glob of black, thick grease across his face. "Fuck."

The girl laughed as Sam walked around the other side of the car. "Sorry, sweetheart." Dean let his eyes travel from the girl's dusty converses, up her tan, smooth legs, and across her torso and chest that was just begging to be let out of the tight hold of t-shirt fabric.

She cocked her hip and rolled her eyes. "My name is Darla, actually. I'm here to drop off my little brother to play with Sam and I couldn't find Bobby."

Attempting to wipe off some of the grease on an even dirtier rag Dean stood up, leaning against the hood of the car. "He's out on some errands right now but you can hang out here until he gets back if you'd like." He smirked and tilted his head, letting his eyes travel one more time.

"You're fucking gross. Tallas is over there with Sam. Tell Bobby if he comes back that I'll pick Tally up around four." Darla threw the last sentence over her shoulder as she was walking out of the small clearing where Dean was working. "Oh, also? Next time you try to hit on a girl make sure you don't look like a junkyard dog first."

Dean whirled around, checking himself in the windshield of the car. He saw a black, smeared face with a swollen lip and swollen shut eye dustily staring back at him. He punched the windshield, shattering both the glass and his image.  
\--

He had just gotten out of the shower and walked into his room when he saw a shiny new copy of an "Anger Management for Dummies" book by his pillow. The only note was a piece of torn paper on top simply stating "Read it". After dressing and making his way outside to sit in the mild almost-summer night Dean settled in the front seat of a rusted out truck in the furthest corner of the lot. He wouldn't let Sam catch him dead with any sort of book because then the kid would never leave him alone.

\--

Three months with Bobby and a perpetual film of grease and dust never leaving his skin, Dean was ready to get back on the road. He'd talked to Darla a few times but it was obvious that Bobby warned her not to distract him while he was here. Sam had stuck his nose in everything there was to be stuck into and was starting to bug Dean incessantly. He'd been "good" for the past month or so - he hadn't broken any of his skin against anything besides the wooden poles in the small training clearing the two Winchester boys had created. John was coming back in the area soon and Dean was hoping against hope he'd be able to convince John to take him with when he left again.

Sam and Dean were in Bobby's kitchen, bread and peanut butter sandwiches and a carton of goldfish half opened and half eaten strewn across the table in front of them. Dean had a beer sweating on the table while Sam stuck with sugary lemonade he'd tried to make himself. As they were lounging around the table a dust cloud began to take shape outside of the window.


End file.
